


at the mention of your name

by mollivanders



Series: second chances [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Caretaking, F/M, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 23:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10146776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollivanders/pseuds/mollivanders
Summary: He’s a professional. He’s been doing this all his life. He doesn’tneedto be around her. And almost to prove to himself that he doesn’t need her, doesn’t miss her, just as much as she clearly doesn’t miss him, he volunteers to meet a potential source on Rishki, an Imperial-occupied swamp planet. He’sfine.All things considered, he should have seen this coming.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katsumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsumi/gifts).



> The much delayed next installment of the [second chances](http://archiveofourown.org/series/648275) series. You don't need to read the previous installments to get this, but it would probably help. Gifted to a friend because they deserve it. Featuring a sick Cassian and flighty Jyn trying to move forward. Title comes from 'Behold the Hurricane' by The Horrible Crowes. General disclaimer that I'm not a doctor and am making up a fictional disease.

She manages to avoid him for a week after Mon Cala, and he’d worked to give her space. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel uncomfortable after their last op, no matter his own feelings on the subject.

(No matter how much her absence left a hollow ache in his chest.)

Still, he had to admit that ten days away from her – ten days away from her smart mouth, from the surety of her at his side, from the earthy scent she carried with her – was starting to affect his mood. He snaps at K2 on a long haul flight, and while the droid takes it in stride, used to Cassian’s sour moods, Bodhi looks at him in surprise. It makes him feel guilty and he keeps his mouth shut the rest of the way back to base, focusing on his mission report instead.

“Everything okay?” Bodhi asks as they disembark, tugging a weapons crate down the ramp between them. Cassian grunts in response and Bodhi sighs in annoyance. “Just _talk_ to her,” Bodhi mutters, heading back into the ship for another crate. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Cassian grumbles, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets.

His surly disposition gets worse, however, when Jyn walks into the mess hall, sees him, and turns on her heel to leave in the same breath. His mood, brightened almost instantly from seeing her, plunges him deep into a scowl so dark that Baze gives him a knowing look and Chirrut laughs as though a joke has been made. It shouldn’t matter, he insists to himself, that she is gone.

(She is here, but gone.)

He’s a professional. He’s been doing this all his life. He doesn’t _need_ to be around her. And almost to prove to himself that he doesn’t need her, doesn’t miss her, just as much as she clearly doesn’t miss him, he volunteers to meet a potential source on Rishki, an Imperial-occupied swamp planet. He’s _fine_.

All things considered, he should have seen this coming.

+

  
The first day back, he writes it off as exhaustion. The mission took three days, days where every nerve in his body was primed for a disaster that never came, days where he caught only a few hours of sleep, and where his only backup was K2. That wouldn’t have been a problem, before, but he’s just tired.

The second day he tries to pass it off as a headache and bundles up in the command center, protesting against the cold. When the princess points out he grew up on a snow covered planet much like this one, he glares at her until she leaves.

(His mood is definitely not improving.)

The third day, in the middle of a coughing fit, Command orders him to the medbay. He submits, following orders, and misses the look a certain concerned sergeant shoots him from across the command center. Three tunnels later, including sidestepping one argument between the princess and Solo, he stumbles into the medbay, clutching his chest as another cough rips through him. The medical droids turn in surprise and usher him to an exam table.

“I’m afraid it’s the flu, Captain,” one of the droids tells him after a blood test.

“The flu?” he asks, incredulous and struggling to resist another cough.

“Yes, Captain. The common flu on Rishki, in fact. Treatment includes standard anti-inflammatory pills and bed rest.”

He stares at the droid, accepting the pill packet it presses into his hand, and stands shakily. “How long will it last?”

The droid cocks its head, considering. “You are likely not still infectious at this point but to be sure, I am removing you from active duty and ordering bed rest for the next two days.”

Normally, he’d argue, but at this point, he figures he had it coming.

(And he’s thankful for an excuse to avoid the rest of the base.)

+

Hours later, he’s curled up on his cot, trying to fall asleep before another coughing fit overtakes him when his door lock chimes softly. He freezes, grasping blindly for the blaster under his pillow, and manages to sit up before the door opens.

The intruder’s frame is illuminated only by the light from the tunnel but even still, he recognizes the familiar tilt of her shoulders and the hair falling out of her bun.

“I heard you weren’t doing so well,” she says and he sighs, leaning back on his elbows.

(Somehow, all the tension slips out of his body.)

“I got the flu,” he says, breath catching in his throat. He can’t believe she’s actually here and wonders blindly if his fever is causing hallucinations. Hesitantly, she steps forward, raising the lights enough to see, and the door slides shut behind her. He sits back against his pillow and sets the blaster by his leg. He’s still not sure she’s really here until she sits next to him and he moves away in alarm, trying to muffle a sudden cough.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says between breaths and she frowns. “I could still be contagious.”

At that, Jyn shrugs. “I don’t care,” she answers, and digs a thermos out of the bag she brought with her. “You’d do the same for me.”

(Something about that is so undeniably Jyn – undeniably the woman who is prone to giving back in equal measure whatever is given to her – that further protest stills in his mouth.)

“Thank you,” he murmurs, letting her scoot closer to him on the bed. She stabilizes herself with a hand near his leg, closer than she’s been in weeks, and his heartbeat speeds up.

(He _missed_ her.)

“What is that?” he asks, curious, as she unscrews the cup off the thermos and pours liquid into it. A smile plays at her lips and he can’t help but return it. “It’ll help your cough,” she says by way of answer, the comfortable lines still playing at her mouth, and he sighs, taking the cup. Maybe she’s right, and he doesn’t need to know. The drink is unfamiliar and herbal, and the scent relaxes him as it soothes his throat.

“Done this before, have you?” he asks and she pauses, studying the pill packet the medical droid gave him.

“Not really,” she says. “I just remember –”. A heavy pause lingers between them before she continues – “I remember what my mother did for me. Some it, anyway.” She tenses next to him, on guard, and he fumbles, trying to cross the sudden distance from his question.

(The silence stretches between them, the weight of the past lingering just out of reach.)

“Well, thank you,” he says, gauging each word, and breathes when her shoulders fall.

She’s not running now.

She flicks her gaze back to him and frowns, leaning in to press the cool back of her hand to his forehead. He relaxes unconsciously, leaning back into his pillows as she examines him. “Fever?” she asks with equal parts concern and reproach, and the room suddenly feels heavy and close.

“Um, a bit,” he says, and she frowns.

“You’re burning up,” she says and moves to the sink to wet a cloth. “How long did you wait before going to medbay?” she asks and he laughs softly, watching her movements. “Three days.”

She makes a pressed noise in the back of her throat and he grins despite himself, drowsiness tugging at his eyes. “No wonder you got sick,” she says, sitting back down and pressing the cloth to his forehead, humming softly.

“No wonder,” he echoes and his eyes slide shut.

(The first time she’s been here in sixteen days, not that he’s counting, and he’s falling asleep.)

“Better?” she asks, her fingers tracing his jaw, and he nods, too tired to open his eyes.

“Will you stay?” he asks.

(He’s asleep before she answers.)

+

He drifts in and out, tossing his blanket with the fever, and he’s not really sure that she was ever really there until she comes back the next day, breaking into his quarters with too much ease for a soldier.

(Just enough ease for a criminal.)

“How’s your fever?” she asks, and he struggles to sit up, his sleep pants trapping him in his sheets. He shoves the sheets away impatiently and swings his bare feet onto the floor, grateful for the shift in temperature. “Better,” he answers honestly. “That drink you gave me helped.”

She nods, sitting next to him, and he catches her eyes guiltily dragging up his bare chest to look at him, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I brought more,” she says, clearing her throat awkwardly. “Chirrut helped me make it. I didn’t realize it would make you fall asleep that fast though. Have you taken your meds?”

He points to the packet on the table next to his bed and she inspects it, reading the instructions. “You’ve missed a dose,” she mutters and moves to the sink to pour a glass of water. She seems to be talking more to herself than to him but he answers anyway. “I was sleeping,” he explains, and she nods, handing him the pill and water. “I haven’t slept that much in days,” he adds, taking his pills as she sits next to him again.

“Good,” she says, watching him carefully, her eyes locked onto his face. He swallows the pills and stills as she presses the back of her hand to his forehead, checking his temperature again. “Good,” she echoes, but she doesn’t seem to want to pull away from him, dropping her hand to his shoulder, and he takes a steadying breath, a sudden urgency driving him. Now that she was here.

(Now that she was back.)

“I missed you,” he says softly, all the hurt from her absence loaded into those three words, and she freezes, staring at him wordlessly. “I’m sorry about Mon Cala,” he adds quickly, suddenly afraid she’ll leave again. “I don’t know if that’s why you left, or if I upset you, but I’m sorry.”

“What?” she asks, a hard edge back to her voice. He swallows past the lump in his throat, from nerves or illness he’s not sure. “You disappeared,” he says, surprised by the edge in his words. “You disappeared,” he repeats, softer but still insistent, and she sighs, dropping her hand back to the bed. “I thought that was why.”

“I came back,” she says, taking a steady breath. “I didn’t know – .” Her mouth twists in a sharp line. “I didn’t know what you wanted.” She stops again, shaking her head. “What I wanted. What you meant. If it was just the mission.” Another pause before she adds, quieter this time, “If it was real.”

He can tell she’s trying not to babble, only letting a few words out at a time, and he reaches for her hand again, relieved when she lets him take it.  
“I meant,” he says, gathering the thoughts that have been lurking in his mind the past two weeks, “that I’m here.” He takes a breath, gauging her reaction, before adding, “However you need. I’m here.”

It’s an open invitation meant to be whatever she needs and she nods, studying their linked hands. He’s sure she can feel his weakened heartbeat pounding through his pulse and runs his thumb along her hand, trying to calm them both.

(He’s seen her blast stormtroopers from behind her without looking, seen her set and run from explosions, and watched her face down Imperial commanders with no hope of escape, but somehow this moment seems more nerve-wracking than them all.)

“I missed you too,” she says, barely audible, and looks at him nervously, inciting a warm flush in his chest that has nothing to do with his illness.

“Okay,” he answers, bumping his shoulder against hers gently. “Okay.”

+

When she comes by the day after, he’s feeling strong enough to shower and shave for the first time in three days. She unlocks his door when he’s standing in front of the ‘fresher mirror, carefully shaving half a week’s stubble away, and her eyes widen when she catches him wearing only a towel.

(There are hazards to breaking into his quarters unannounced, after all.)

He tilts his head at her, exasperated.

“This is why some people knock,” he says, amusement in his voice, and she relaxes.

“We aren’t _some people_ ,” she retorts, wavering on coming inside, and he rolls his eyes. “I came to see if you were hungry for something other than the medbay rations,” she asks and he pauses mid-shave to look at her again, surprised to realize he hasn’t thought about eating for days. “Chirrut says the drink might suppress your appetite and you shouldn’t have more until you eat something.”

“Well, shit,” he mutters, and washes his face off. “If you’ll let me get dressed, Erso, I’ll go wherever you want.” She flushes a little, but smiles, and raises her hands in mock offense. “In your own time, Captain,” she says, and he _really_ needs to get dressed.

When they show up in the mess hall together, Bodhi shoots them a knowing look and Chirrut pats the seats next to him, smiling.

“Better, Captain?” the older man asks with an entirely different tone than Jyn’s. Cassian steals a look at Jyn, who is nicking the toast off of Bodhi’s plate and can’t even bring himself to be vaguely embarrassed even though Chirrut is clearly asking about more than the last three days.

“Couldn’t _be_ better,” he answers, relaxed in the truth of his answer, and returns the other man’s smile.

(The next day, the feeling he gets when he sees Jyn listed back on his mission crew beats it by a parsec.)

_Finis_

**Author's Note:**

> They'll get there, I promise. This is not the end.
> 
> I am [ladytharen](ladytharen.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr if you want to come say hi!


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